


The Archivist Goes to Lush

by furbymandotcom



Series: The Archivist Goes to Lush [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furbymandotcom/pseuds/furbymandotcom
Summary: A lighthearted, wacky sitcom AU written for the pure fun of it. I'm making this for me, but you guys can look at it too if you want. I sprinkle in things from each season at my whimsy, so there will be spoilers abound and things won't make sense sometimes. Don't worry about it.
Series: The Archivist Goes to Lush [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544299
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	The Archivist Goes to Lush

_If nothing else, I will learn something new._

This was the Archivist's mantra as he willed himself to open the door and set foot within the small but intimidating building before him. Orsinov's comments on the state of his skin had, as he would only begrudgingly admit even to himself, _gotten under it,_ as it were, and he'd heard some of the younger folks at the Institute discussing products they purchased from this place that had done wonders for their complexions, so there he was. With no clue as to his own skintype or what he did and did not need to improve it, there he was.

How hard could it be to figure out what sort of slop he needed to smear all over himself to make his face feel better? He was an avatar of The Beholding; surely it would know something as trite as a proper skincare routine for someone with a bit of a grease problem. He found its guidance distinctly lacking as he lurched through the shop, however. Each new pot he inspected was just as confusing as the last, and reading the ingredients offered him no insight - if anything, they only befuddled him further, bringing a grimace so unpleasant to his face that more than one employee saw fit to change their mind about asking him if he needed any help. 

What, exactly, was something called Cookie Dough supposed to do for his skin? Why was there sugar and sea salt in it? Are we putting herbs and spices on our faces and seeing what happens now? Is that how we take care of ourselves these days? Just slather yourself in gravy and see if it helps that acne problem! If it doesn't, well, we've got a fresh pot of Yog Nog waiting for you here at the Lush. 

Soothed only somewhat by his own comedic genius, the Archivist's befuddlement reached a head as he read further on the ingredient list for the aforementioned Cookie Dough. There was only so much patience to be had with something that cited _glycerin_ as one of its ingredients, and it was at the point that this word caught his eye that he decided enough was enough. Being aware of the ingredients would clearly be of no help to him. It was time to take matters into his own hands. Well, eyes.

He gave the pot a squeeze as he fixed his gaze upon it. 

Things trickled in slowly at first: the smell, the way it would feel against his skin, the fact that he was supposed to use it in --

"Sir?"

His concentration shattered in an instant. He snapped his head around to face the perpetrator with the same speed and force that the information ceased to flow into his mind. Judging by the young lady's reaction, he believed the look he gave her to have been rather frightening, and sheepishly apologized. 

"I'm - I'm sorry. Am I... doing something wrong?" 

"Oh, no, sir, I just thought - well, I heard you, um...I saw the way you were picking up pots and thought that maybe this is your first time here...?"

"Oh...yes. Yes, it is, I've never really..." He gestured to the various products lining the shelves of the store. "I've never done this stuff before. I'm honestly not sure what I should be looking for."

While Beholding was no help in telling him what any of these products would actually do for him, it took great pains to assure him that the smile spreading across this poor woman's face was very forced, and that she'd like him out of her store as soon as possible. "I can help you with that! What sorts of problems are you having right now?"

"Well... again, I'm not really sure. I've never thought that hard about the state of my face. I think I'm greasy? My glasses are always sliding down my nose."

"We can handle that. Just have a seat here and I'll grab a product or two that should help you right out!"

His follow-up question of '_right here?_' in reference to the small stool she vaguely directed him toward went unheard as the young woman, whose name he'd been made to understand was Caroline, scurried away to collect samples for him. Heat rose in his cheeks as the overwhelming feeling of displacement settled in. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he folded them neatly in his lap only to separate them when doing so alerted him to the excessive sweating in his palms. Unsure that he could get away with wiping them off on his pants before Caroline's return, he gripped his knees perhaps too tightly. 

It did not make him feel any better.

The wait for Caroline felt much longer than it actually was. It felt right to suspect that she would never return, far too put off by his...everything. He could not think of a singular thing about himself that scared her, and was instead inclined to believe that it was simply all of him that had this woman in a state of mild unnerve. 

Her eventual reemergence snapped him out of yet another focused gaze, although this one was more in the realm of obsessing over every minuscule reason he could be weird or scary to someone rather than trying to compel a pot of Cookie Dough Shower Scrub to give him its statement. The look he fixed her with when he realized she was there seemed to give her pause. For a brief moment, he thought she actually felt sorry for him.

_Of course she does._

Of course, he thought back bitterly.

"So, I've brought you --"

"Four products."

"Four....products."

"...Sorry."

"How did you..?"

"No."

"What?"

"_No._"

"...Alright! Well, this is actually a seasonal item, but I think it'll do you a lot of good if you're having trouble with excess oil."

Informative as her spiel may have been to someone more keen on the topic of skincare, the Archivist found himself falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole he just could not make himself understand. Each and every time she asked him what he was trying to achieve by rubbing his face down with sweet-smelling goop, he could not answer her. What was he trying to achieve? What did it mean to have a dewy look? A matte one? The more questions she posed to him, the more his mind scattered, as if hiding from the overpowering shame of not knowing something immediately upon making contact with it. He, too, felt like hiding, but his bottom was plastered to the stool beneath him by the Watcher's unyielding compulsion to _know_.

How was it even gleaning anything from this? He himself was not retaining the information at all. Could it really benefit from something going into one of his ears and right out of the other?

She was rubbing something on the back of his hand. He couldn't remember offering it to her.

It felt unpleasant and smelled like toothpaste.

All at once, he tore his hand away from her, wiping the green substance it was now slathered in off onto his shirt. 

_It's a face mask, but you can use it as a daily scrub as well._

"_Thank you,_" he hissed through gritted teeth, and when he noticed how taken aback Caroline looked by this sudden bout of rudeness, he added "Not you," as if that would be of any comfort to her.

As he finally stood from his throne of confusion and incomprehension, knees quaking under pressure placed upon him by no one but himself, he came to the conclusion that he had just wasted more than a few minutes of this woman's time. How long was he sat on that stool learning absolutely nothing? There was no clock on the wall and his phone was tucked away into his pocket. He felt as though reaching for it was an insurmountable feat at the moment, like it might slip out of his hands because of how sweaty they were, so he left it well enough alone. 

Guilt consumed him as he turned on his heel without another word to walk out the door and never return. He was almost certain he heard other people enter and then leave the store within moments while he was in it. There was no sign of the other employees once Caroline began speaking to him. His wretched visit wouldn't hurt their business terribly, of course; Lush was a mainstream corporation selling expensive luxury bath products, but he still felt the need to atone for his crimes. People were hurt, or at the very least made deeply uncomfortable, and the only thing he conluded that he could do to make it up to them was to buy something. 

Before he could exit the store, he inspected the shelf nearest the door. The first thing to catch his eye was an £11 tub of shower jelly. He snatched it up and slunk back toward the counter with it, slamming it down just hard enough to infer that he was angry about it. The start it gave Caroline sent his heart plummeting into his stomach. He thought himself the only man in the world capable of causing more problems by trying to fix them. The scowl on his face as he ruminated on this clearly did nothing for her nerves, and the cycle continued.

The transaction occurred in total silence. He left the store, and Caroline in particular, with quite a story to tell their friends later. 


End file.
